Traveling In Strategic Circles
by x Ruby Dust x
Summary: Michael Westen had just gotten rid of his mother for a weekend when a new nuisance walks into his life. His old partner. He wants to believe she only wants to help him, but there's something about her...rated M for language.sex.violence
1. Chapter 1

**watched the show. liked it. decided to write something on it. here you go!**

**hope you enjoy! REVIEW!**

**read on and rock out. **

**Ruby D.**

Traveling In Strategic Circles.

A "Burn Notice" fanfiction.

Chapter One.

_There are certain people in life that you're destined to keep bumping into for the rest of your natural born life. Some, you might be happy to see. Greetings would consist of a warm smile, exchanging pleasantries, maybe even a gentle embrace or a kiss on the cheek. But others... How do you greet someone you're not exactly ecstatic to see? Especially when you know the meaning for the unexpected meeting is a ulterior motive? _

As Michael Westen approached his mother's house, suddenly finding that the closer he got, the more he had to force his legs to keep walking, he couldn't help but notice something... off. He couldn't place it, but, whatever it was, had only made the slightest of differences. He stopped for a moment, stuffing his hands in his pockets and quickly adding a glance over his shoulder to see if his two watchers were following, to examine to house a bit more carefully. He came up with nothing. Yet, had he been someone other than who he was, he wouldn't have noticed anything in the first place. The outside was just as he remembered. Not a single blade of grass out of place. No. It wasn't exterior. But still...

The difference was looming inside the house in the for of Madeline racing around from room to room. He had never seen his mother walk - practically jogging, really - so fast and so frantically. She was bustling about, gathering random items from random spots and stuffing them into a duffel bag that was hanging from her shoulder. She was so preoccupied with her work, she hadn't even noticed Michael slip in the front door, and loudly close it behind him. Really loudly. As to get her attention. But, obviously, that hadn't worked. Just as he was about to thank God for this seeming miracle, Madeline called out to him, "Michael? Michael is that you there?"

He caught up with her in the kitchen, silently cursing himself that he hadn't gotten out when he had gotten the chance. "Mom?"

"Get my medications out of the cabinet." She instructed while taking the stub of a cigarette from her mouth and extinguishing it in the nearest ashtray.

Michael shuffled over to the kitchen cabinet where he knew they had kept the medications. When he was younger all that occupied that space was a bottle of aspirin and some bandages. Now, as he opened the creaking door, pill bottled overflowed from within, bombarding his feet with different sized orange cylinders. "Holy...!" He started to collect the assortment with a grim expression, a frown furrowing somewhere between his eyebrows. "You do _not_ need all these."

"Michael, don't start! Just help me!" She snapped. Madeline was now in overdrive, rushing into her bedroom to - Michael would only assume - pack clothes.

"What are you doing, anyway?" The question came mechanically as he studied the bottles in his hands. He couldn't even pronounce some of these brands.

"Packing. My good friend, Cindy Bazil, you remember Cindy, called me up this morning and asked if I wanted to go sort of a "spur of the moment" vacation with her."

Michael rolled his eyes. No, he did not remember Cindy Bazil. "Spur of the moment?"

"Well... she just got her first alimony payment from that cheating sac of man-meat Ted, you remember Ted. God knows why she ever married that dolt. Anyway, she was positively thrilled that she had gotten it, and decided to add insult to injury and spend it all as soon as she got it. She doesn't really need it, anyhow. She got the house in the settlement..."

Michael let out a long, deep sigh. Again, no he didn't know Ted. He didn't know there had been a divorce. He certainly didn't know what "man-meat" was supposed to mean. And he didn't know that asking his mother _that _particular question would make him regret it so much. And he didn't necessarily like the thought of his mother taking off at a time like this, but he knew he wasn't going to stop her. Plus, it would be nice to have someplace to go where Fiona and the feds weren't popping up every two seconds. As this thought occurred to him, he realized he had completely tuned out his mother, who was now talking about Ted's forgetfulness towards taking down Christmas lights. He interrupted her just as she was snatching away the pill bottles from his hands. "Fine. I'll keep an eye on the house."

His mother stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and a menacing smile dancing across her lips. "You don't know? I already have somebody looking over the house, Michael. I though _you_, of all people, would have known. She said she's quite close to you, after all."

Michael ran a hand down his face. "FIONA!" His eyebrows now stitched together in the middle of his forehead, clearly taking all the stress and a little bit of anger in that movement. He had thought he placed the difference when he had walked in, seeing his mother scrambling about. But, as abnormal as that was, the odd feeling still lingered.

"Not Fiona, Michael," Madeline sighed.

But she didn't have to state it. He knew it wasn't Fiona just as soon as the true odd feeling made itself known. And she was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

She had been staring at him the entire time, watching him walk up and into the house and proceeded to observe him as he entered the kitchen. He had been too preoccupied with the cylinders to notice and was now, not so silently, cursing himself for not noticing.

Her soft, gentle face smiled at him. Her sharp facial features were hiding the true evil inside, though, and he felt a sudden need to protect his "man meat" in some way. Her smile seemed like a nice enough gesture - Madeline seemed to be endeared by it - but Michael knew better. He only saw that smile one other time, and he had then crumpled to the floor in agonizing pain afterwards. She gave him shivers which he couldn't shake. God, was this woman the exact opposite of what she looked.

He gave her a once over, anyhow. He started from and the floor traveled up her long, somewhat lanky, legs in the pair of jeans he knew as her favorite. He continued following her curves up to her torso, where the abruptly stopped at the waist due to the kind of baggy white t-shirt she was wearing. His old t-shirt, before he left for the military. Poking out from the top of that t-shirt was the thin neck that seemed to stretch for ages but, at the same time, was still just a normal sized neck. Of course most of it, as usual, was blocked by the cascade of curly black locks flowing freely from the top of her head. Her eyes, piercing sapphire and as steely as metal, never faltered from his. She knew just the cloaked expression that unnerved him in so many ways.

"Ughh...wow...Riley..." His hand moved to encompass the back of his neck where he found beads of cold sweat forming.

Riley almost giggled as she brushed passed him and into the kitchen. First, though, she made sure to lightly touch his arm with her slender fingers. A second ploy to unnerve him. He watched her glide up to the counter, pull a chair back, and seat herself elegantly in front of a cup of steaming hot coffee and the newspaper. Opened to the political section, of course. "Good to see you, too, Mickey." Her voice was high, but she might as well have been snarling at him.

"Alight, kids! I'll see you in a couple days, I guess!" Madeline was already half-way out the door as she waved to them, breaking Michael from a sort of trace state. He turned just in time to see her light another cigarette and get into a waiting cab.

He tried chasing after her yelling, "Wait...woah! Where are you going?!", but he only made it to the threshold before the cab disappeared around the corner. And there he decided to stay for the moment. In the doorway. Rubbing his temples. He could feel a particularly nasty headache coming on.

Riley sauntered up to him, her arms crossed and the menacing smile still dancing at her upper lip. "Think she said something 'bout Vegas."

He pivoted to her, the frown on his face deepening. "Riley, what the hell are you doing here?"

The smile wiped from her face, her once teasing gaze now stony and full of distaste. For a second, he thought she was going to spit on him. "You bastard!" she bellowed, returning inside the house as to not disturb the neighbor's with her oncoming rant. After all, she was going to have to get along with them for the next couple days. "How dare you! How dare you ask me such a think when you're just standing there acting like nothing happened. Nothing at all. You left me in Nigeria, Michael. High and dry. I had no transportation, no contact, nothing! You said you'd meet me just after the job and you never showed up. So..._just maybe_... I think I should be the one to be a little upset here. Don'tya think?"

"Riley," Michael ran another, now shaking, hand down his face to try to keep his composure, "I'm going to ask you one more time. What are you doing here?" Despite the rage he was feeling, he managed to keep his tone quite nicely. She was accusing him of leaving her, but had he really any other choice? How did he know that she wasn't behind the burn? How did he know that she didn't know about the burn beforehand and didn't bother to mention something. And, given that she knew about his situation at all, where was the sympathy?

Instead of answering him, though, she continued to go off on her own raging spiral. "And you know what? I wasn't mad that you just up and left. I was dead set on killing you, but not mad. Very vindictive, but not mad. But when I finally got back to civilization, I happened upon a interesting tid bit of information. Know what it might be?"

He was growing more irritated with every passing second. Finally, he just reached out an grabbed her shoulders, pulling her body so close to his that their noses almost touched. "_Riley..._!"

She made the crude sound of a buzzer. "Errrrrr! sorry, Johnny. That's the wrong answer, but we have a wonderful consolation prize. A nice ass kicking by the short - and mildly crazy - chick who found out you got burned! A burn notice, Michael! I still wasn't mad. I was furious! Why didn't you call me?!" Her voice got more booming with every word.

She finished her spiral by shoving him away. Even though she was smaller than him , Riley was not about to let him intimidate her. True, she couldn't really kick his ass. But she could damn sure try her mightiest.

Michael, jolted back by her shove, started a frustrated pace across the width of the floor. In the process, he had pushed objects out of his way that his mother had knocked down in her rush. "Goddammit, Riley. You realize you're risking everything just voluntarily standing in the same room with me, right? I have feds on my case. If they see you here and leak it back to...whoever...they could issue one on you, too!" He let it all out in one breath that he hadn't noticed he had been holing in.

Riley let all her anger go, her shoulders falling with the lost tension. "I know."

Michael just glared at her with those two simple words. He really should have called her, and he wasn't sure why he hadn't anymore. He stopped his pacing, placing his hands on his hips and directed his eyes to the floor. He had gotten to uncharacteristically angry at her just a minute ago and he was somewhat ashamed of that.

Riley just started laughing out of no where. Not a nervous laugh, but a real one. A light, fluttery laugh. The one thing that Michael could, and would continue to, vividly remember about her. Riley loved to laugh. "Is this how you treat all your house guests?"

"Technically, I'm _your_ house guest...I think...," He slightly smiled as he sat down at the kitchen counter, extending his arm and offering her the chair she had sat in before. "So... how do you know my mom?"

"I don't." He didn't need anymore explanation from her. Riley was they called a "mixed breed" in his former organization. While each spy knew much about electronics (how they worked, ways their systems could be augmented, etc.), Riley was the queen about them all. (Her father was an engineer at a naval depot when she was young. She used to spend the weekends with him, taking computers and other gadgets apart, then putting them back together. The fastest she had ever assembled a make-shift bomb out of a cellphone battery, 33 seconds.) But, instead of being confined to the computer labs or any other technically applied position, Riley loved fieldwork. She was also an expert at picking locks, but had a mouth that wrote checks her muscles couldn't cash. Her lack - and a drastic lacking it was - of social skills made Michael make her promise that he would be the one doing any bargaining during a job. Or talking, rather.

Michael realized he was staring.

"I was worried about you, Michael."

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He might have been able to handle people better, but she definitely had the emotional edge on him. "Thanks."

A few more uncomfortable, silent moments passed between them before Michael couldn't take it anymore. "Rie, what _are_ you doing here?" Emphasis on the right word was everything.

She wrapped her hands around a no-longer-smoking cup of coffee, her entire demeanor changing with that one question. She now stirred the cold coffee with her pointer finger. One. Two. Three times counterclockwise. I, ugh, came here to help you?"

He didn't believe her for a second. Not that she wouldn't help him, but that wasn't exactly the sole purpose of her extremely unexpected visit. "You came to help me?" An old interrogation technique. Repeat everything the 'interviewee' was saying.

She knew what he was doing. And she knew that he saw right through her. It was because she was a bad liar. Really. Just horrible. It made her wonder why she even tried anymore. "Uh huh."

"Uh huh?"

"Yep."

She had caught onto the technique. Damn. "Riley?" his brows couldn't help but mockingly arch at her.

"Alright! Fine! Okay! Whatever," she yelled as she threw her hands in the air. "I was hoping that in return for helping you in your ... _situation_..." She gestured around the room, but he understood that she meant the whole 'Miami thing', "You could help me?" Her voice grew smaller with the last words.

He squinted at her. "Help you with what?" Again, not that he wouldn't help her. It was the trade of services that she had put on the table that made him a bit uneasy.

"See...Jack called me last night and..."

But he had interrupted but raising a hand to her, "Who's Jack?"

"Fox and TJ's dad."

He raised his other had so he was copying her stance. They both realized they looked ridiculous and put their arms down, but Michael gestured towards another question. "And they would be?"

"My kids."


	2. Chapter 1: prt 2

**shorter than the first. sorry. **

**review please!**

**Ruby Dust**

Traveling in Strategic Circles.

A "Burn Notice" fanfiction.

Chapter One

Michael felt every muscle in his body go rigid with a new set of two words. "Your kids?" He felt a sudden need for relocation. Anywhere but this house. His mother's house. Again, another odd feeling swept over him. But he ignored it. And he managed to shake off his urge to run away screaming. "Since when do you have kids?"

She leaned back in her chair, somewhat shocked at his shock but not really too surprised. "Since I was a seventeen-year-old girl who was convinced that her college-bound-love-of-her-life-or-at-least-at-that-time was going to ditch her the moment he stepped foot in his dorm room and saw that he was sharing a co-ed room with a wannabe-blonde-sorority-bitch unless she put out at prom."

Michael scrunched his face together in a disturbed way. He would chose his questions more wisely this time. His lips were about to move before she produced a photo from her purse laying somewhere on a chair next to her side. He stared at the smiling faces of two children, similar in ever way except that they were of different genders. Both had their mother's dark curls and her piercing eyes. And that smile. But everything else must have belonged to their father.

Riley leaned over his shoulder, pointing to the boy first. "That's Fox. And TJ's there. Ten-year-old twins."

Michael waited, hearing her sobbing slightly. Nothing in her face was visible of these sounds, but he could just tell that she was grieving. "So what did Jack call you about?"

Riley sat down again, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them as fiercely as she could. "Him and his wife live in Miami, actually. His new wife, Amy, is a swimsuit model. Anyway, Jack called about three days ago to ask me if I could take them for a while. Seeing as how my profession takes me all over the world for long periods of time, the twins live with him. I told him it wasn't a problem, and he said that Amy was going to drive up to where I was staying at the time. He said that they would be there in two days.

"Two days later, no kids and no Amy. I started to worry a little, but then I thought: _Amy must have just gotten side tracked at a huge mall sale somewhere._ It's happened before. So I let it go. Then, yesterday, still no kids. I called Jack and he told me that Amy had gotten in a car accident on the way up. Supposedly a long-haul truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and pushed her off the road. She's in the ICU."

"So you want me to find out who this truck driver is and find out what really happened?"

She shook her head violently, somewhat perturbed that he hadn't waited until the end to ask questions. It was just a waste of her time. "No. I could have done that, Michael. I _did_ do that. Let me finish."

"Sorry..." He sat back, relaxing in his chair and listening.

"So Jack apologizes for not contacting me and then drops the bomb. He tells me that when the police and rescuers got to the scene, the twins were no where to be found. Not a trace. Their seatbelts had been cut. The only thing left behind was TJ's doll."

"Sooo..." But another glare made him realize that she still wasn't done.

"I get another call right after I hung up with Jack. I don't know his name, his voice was masked, and I didn't have time to trace it. He told me he had my kids, Michael, and only I could give him what he wants."

She let him ask the question this time, "And that would be?"

"Information on you."

His arms crossed at his chest while he stared at her. He was thinking the same thing she was, and he didn't like it. "So why are you here, Riley?"

"Michael! I would never ask you to sacrifice yourself for my children, but... I was just hoping that you could help me. I don't know where to start, and I don't plan on giving this guy the information."

Okay, he felt a little better. "Let's start with the truck driver. I find it a little too coincidental that he just happened to cause this car accident then the kids go inexplicitly missing."

"Me, too. Which is why I looked up the name on the driver's license. Trevor McKenzie. I found out all about him. Born in Miami on February 12, 1974. Died in Miami on October 5, 1975. So that just pissed me off. I looked up the license plate number on the truck. Fake. The brand name of the stuff in his truck. Fake. So I called the company that made the truck, and they said that it was out-serviced about three years ago. They got all new ones." And Michael saw something he had never imagined seeing before. Tears streamed from Riley eyes, a pool forming in her lap. "I hit a dead end, and I don't know where to go from here."

Michael knew that that wasn't the reason she had come to ask for his help. She was afraid that her personal emotions were going to get in the way of her logic, and that would ultimately lead to something bad for her kids. "All right. Let me see what I can do." That is all he could promise, after all.


	3. Chapter 2

Traveling in Strategic Circles.

A "Burn Notice" fanfiction.

Chapter Two.

_Sometimes, when you run into these "old friends", you just have to suck it up and grin. After all, there is one thing in common between those who you want to see and those who you don't. They almost always need something from you. So how do you chose who to help and who to politely kick out on their ass? _

Fiona stared, quite confounded, at the sight before her eyes. Sam was asleep in the chair, a beer in one hand and a stack of papers on his knee. The fact that he was asleep, and drooling slightly, didn't surprise her in the least, but the fact that he had actually broken into Michael's apartment without a trace when Michael wasn't there astounded her to no end.

Her confusion turned into anger as she, ever so gently, glided over to where he snoozed and fiercely kicked him in the side with the heel of her stiletto. The anger washed away just as soon as it had set, and was replaced by a gleeful smirk as she watched him writhe on the floor in pain. He huddled in a heap, clasping his hands around his neck and curling into a ball. The basic self preservation move.

She moved again, placing herself behind him somewhere. "You forgot to protect the kidneys," she joked as her foot wound up again.

Sam scrambled to his feet, thinking that she was joking but not willing to take the risk. "Physco..." he mumbled under his breath. She heard him, but let it slide.

"Where's Michael?" Fiona made sure to sound uninterested, although the curiosity had set back in.

"Hell if I know. All he said was that his mom called and asked him to come over."

_Ah! _Fiona relished. Sam hadn't broken in, which made her feel loads better. Hell, if Sam could break in then almost anyone could. "I think I'll take a ride over there, then." She was speaking to herself more than him.

As Fiona moved to the door, pulling her key from the lock and dangling it in front of her - to mock Sam that he didn't have his own and to remind herself that she did - she became aware of the footsteps bounding up the steel staircase outside. Michael appeared in the doorway several seconds later. And, to Fiona's dismay, not alone.

Riley walked in behind him, her eyes somewhat puffy and swollen from her previous outburst. She looked to Fiona, then to the inside of the house. "SAM!"

Sam, who had been more interested in collecting his beer before, twisted himself until he could plainly see who had shouted his name. But, by the time he had gotten a good look, Riley was leaping into his arms and putting a miniature choke hold around his neck. "Jeez, Rie!" He put her back down on her feet and smiled. She gave him her own weak smile back.

Michael squinted at the scene, watching the two laugh at each other. "You two... know each other?"

Riley glared at him with her steely eyes. "Sam and I go way back," she replied as she turned her attention back to him. "Remember the Kelley project when they gave us the thing and we had to put it back together?"

Sam snapped his fingers, "Oh, yeah! And then it broke so we had to get a new thing-a-ma-jig, but when we finally got it in..."

"...the old one was working again."

Sam continued his own trip down memory lane in the confides of his own head. Scratching his chin, he lifted a finger to point at her. "What the hell happened to you, kiddo? You look like you've been to hell and back."

All excitement was replaced with pity for herself as Riley lowered her eyes to her feet. Michael observed her for the second time that day, now able to see her real self while before it was hidden under that vindictive smile. Her mascara was bleeding under her eyes, adding to the dark circles that prominently stood out. Worry lines creased her forehead and lightly brushed the corners of her mouth.

She crossed her arms over her chest and began rocking from side to side, nothing more than a shifting of weight. All her innocence and sadness was pouring out into the room, effecting all of them to the point where Michael found himself also swaying in place and Sam was also staring at his feet with her same small frown.

Fiona, however, kept her head held high and her hands on her hips. This was her territory. These were her boys, and, even though they didn't notice it sometimes, her goons. This woman was walking in on her land. And she was doing it while wearing Michael's t-shirt.

She clenched her jaw tight, simultaneously wrapping her slender fingers around her key in her pocket and squeezing it even tighter.

Michael broke the silence, raising a hand and indicating Riley. "This is what my mom called me for. She went out of town and Riley's watching the house."

Fiona let out heart fluttering gasp, but continued to act as bored and nonchalant as she could.

Riley wrenched her head to look at Michael with a panicked glare. "Michael...I ... I trust _Sam_."

Fiona knew that meant that Riley didn't trust her. Which was good, because she shouldn't. "Fine." She walked out of the apartment, listening to Michael's cries of _'Fi! Come here.'_ She ignored him with a gleeful swagger, amused that even though Riley had expressed that she didn't want Fiona to be there, Michael still called her back. Maybe she would come back later, but first she would catch up on some well missed rays at the beach. Or, maybe she would head out to the shooting range? She had a brand new semi automatic in her glove compartment that was just calling out to her.

- - - - - - - -

Michael put his hands on his hips and bowed his head. He wanted Fiona to stay, even if Riley was uncomfortable around her. Or was it vise versa? He looked back to his new "client", her eyes sweeping the floor around her shoes. She still looked so small towards him and, if possible, his t-shirt looked that much bigger on her than before.

She saw him and lifted her eyes to meet his. "I guess that was the wrong thing to do?"

"Well," Michael sighed, "Fiona could have been a big help. But, if I know Fi, she'll be back later." Hopefully.

Sam shifted awkwardly. "Woah? Help with what?"

Michael sat on his bed, Riley to his left, and Sam slid his chair over so they could all talk closely. Riley explained her predicament one more time, Michael filling in for her when she started to sob again. Although, that was not often seeing as how she was running out of tears.

Dabbing her eyes with her wrist, she apologized for breaking down. "No," Sam reached towards her and placed a hand on her knee, "don't worry about it." He was, as Riley could see, just as emotionally inept as Michael. "So, what's our action plan. If you can call it that, I mean."


	4. Chapter 2: prt 2

Chapter Two.

Part Two.

Michael took a seat at the umbrella-sheltered table, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. He really wasn't sure what he was drinking, but Fiona had been very clear with her instructions. She told him to meet her at the nameless beach side cabana-style restaurant at exactly four o-clock, and to be holding a drink called - simply, and bluntly put - Love. Her next instructions were just as outright: down the drink, then ask for another. She was still definitely playing with him. After two ounces of sloe gin, one egg white, several drops of lemon juice, and a whole shit load of raspberry syrup (giving the drink a pinkish-reddish hue), Fiona appeared from somewhere behind him and took a satisfied seat to his right.

So looked at him, smiling her most menacing smile, then glanced at the glass in his hand and the emptied one on the table. "You didn't really order that, did you? Michael, I was only kidding." No, she wasn't. If he hadn't done it, as both of them knew, she wouldn't have shown up.

Michael gave her his own fake-pleasantries smile. "I need you, Fie."

Fiona knew what he meant, but played with his words. It was more fun that way. "Why, Michael, I had no idea..."

"Fiona," he scolded, placing the fruity concoction down and pushing it towards the other side of the table. He gave it one more wincing glance than looked back towards her. "Riley is a good friend of mine, and she needs my help." Fiona raised her eyebrows at him, urging him to press Riley and his relationship a little further, but he dismissed her. "It's not what you think."

Her smile disappeared. "Really? I just wanted to make sure, Michael. After all, I have this," she continued by holding up the key he had given her. "I don't want to pop by one day with good intentions, and end up walking in on something."

If she had meant to annoy him now, she was succeeding. "She offered to pay."

Fiona was intrigued. "How much?"

"A lot."

She shifted in her seat, pretending she was adjusting her skirt. She was thinking, making a mental list of the pros and cons of helping him and Riley. "I don't know, Michael."

He gave her a sideways glance. She had never, ever, said those words to him before. At least not in that order. "Half."

She thought a moment, then took his offer. "Half. And not a penny less," she nodded as she reached her hand out to him. He grabbed it, shaking her hand firmly but making sure to linger for a moment. Her skin was soft, smooth, and very good feeling all over. It made him absentmindedly reminisce of the old days when those hands belonged to him. Firm, yet ladylike hands.

Shaking his head, he readjusted his memories to the attic of his mind and pulled his sunglasses over his eyes. He threw a twenty dollar bill on the table, then proceeded to get up. Reaching into the inside of his jacket, he handed her a yellow paper that was tightly folded. "Head out to that location and take some pictures for me. Let me know if there's anything I should know." She looked curiously at him, but he couldn't elaborate. He didn't even know what she was looking for.

Hell, it was just the start.

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Fiona stepped out of her air-conditioned, newly acquired BMW and onto the strip of road heading out of Miami. Her heels clicking against the pavement, Fiona twisted and turned in several directions before she reached into her pocket and checked the paper Michael had given her. She was right where she had to be, and yet there was nothing but road.

She walked back to her car, pulling a camera out of her purse on the passenger seat. Without any further direction, she just started snapping pictures.

The first couple where of the sun, which she was cursing for bearing down so heavily on her. Usually Fiona liked the heat - in fact, she despised anything cold or wet - but this was just too much for her. And she forgot her sunscreen.

Then, her pictures turned into landscapes. The stretch of road heading in one direction, then the other. Fiona paused, readjusted her lens, then searched for her next shot. Skid marks on the road.

She walked over to them, the camera shouting out mechanical sounds as she rapidly pressed buttons. The skid marks were only a few feet long, but they led to more skid marks. Smaller skid marks that lead off the road until they turned into tire tracks. A little farther ahead, glass shards lay scattered around the trunk of a tree.

Fiona visually recorded her findings, the pulled her cell phone and dialed Michael's number. He answered on the first ring. _"What do you have for me, Fie?" _He chimed.

Fiona took a deep breath, the answered. "I think Riley was right," she reported, "I think there was foul play. From the looks of it, the truck sped up to get next to the car, then slammed on the brakes to push this other car off the road and into a ditch."

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Michael closed his phone, leaning back in the driver's seat. He let his head fall to his right, so he was able to look at Riley through the corner of his eye. She had stared at her lap the entire ride to the hospital, but had looked up when his phone had rang. "That was Fiona," he announced, unable to look her in her red, puffy eyes.

"And what did _Fiona _say?" Riley asked, crossing her arms over her chest in an effort to block him out from her thoughts. He knew her all too well, unfortunately.

"She said you were right, although we already knew that. I set her to take some pictures of the scene, so maybe we'll know what we're looking at exactly."

Riley nodded, reaching up and rubbing her nose. An awkward silence fell over them, and Riley fell back into her sobbing. Just when she thought she had run out of tears to cry, a new wave of grief pulled at her heartstrings.

Michael peeled the sunglasses off his face, handing them to her. She looked at him questioningly, to which he replied with a smile. "If we're going to talk to this woman…"

"Amy," she interrupted, taking his offering.

"…if we're going to talk to Amy, you're going to want to at least try and pull it together. I'd imagine Jack would be there. Correct?" He waited for her to nod, then continued, "Well, he's going to want to know that you're confident you'll get your kids back."

Riley stared at him through the darkened lenses. She knew the real probabilities she was facing, but, on the surface, she wanted him to assure her that everything was going to be okay. She wanted him to flat out tell her that her children were safe, and just waiting for their mother to rescue them. She wanted him to say what she knew he never would.

Michael let the silence linger a little longer, then stepped out of the car and walked towards the hospital. Quickly, she followed suite and fell in step beside him. Together, they made their way up to the third floor, room number 307.

Amy was lying in the bed, the whole room to herself. She was propped up on pillows, her perfect face bruised and dented from the collision with her airbag. Her hair - usually long, illustrious locks of amber - was cut short to her head after getting caught in the twisted metal, tufts visible from the bandaged wrapped around her cranium. Her unusually petite arms were both in casts, both broken from trying to brace herself.

Jack was sitting next to her, his strong fingers gently stroking Amy's cheek as she slept. He look up when he heard the door open, and rose to his feet when Michael and Riley entered. Michael immediately noticed the similarities the man had with his children. The lean body. The chiseled jaw. The wide shoulders. The broad nose.

He rushed to embrace Riley, who welcomed the hug completely. Michael saw her fall into him, Jack being the only thing holding her vertical. "Riley… oh, thank God," he whispered. Michael noticed the same desperate, defeated tone that Riley had present in her voice.

"Jack," she started, pushing him away. "Jack, this is Michael."

Jack looked alarmed, obviously not noticing Michael walking in with Riley. He took one look at the khaki- suit and was immediately put on 'high alert'. "Who's he?" he asked, panic ringing thought to the room. He took several steps away from her, his hands in the air. "Riley, I told you no cops…"

"Jack, wait! He's not a cop. He's… he's…"

"A friend," Michael offered, offering a hand.

"I worked with Michael a little while ago. I asked him to help. Listen to him, Jack. He can help," she rambled, taking Jack by the arm and leading him back to the seat by Amy's bed.

Jack looked concerned, his face wrinkled with worry lines from the tip of his forehead to the bottom of his chin. He stared at his wife for a moment, seeming to look past her in a way. He glanced in one particular spot, unblinking. Riley recognized Jack slipping into his own little world - the same stare he had used when she first told him she was pregnant. She knelt down beside him, slipping her hand into his. "Jack, you do trust me. Right?"

He frowned. "Of course, Rie," he answered, squeezing her hand back. "Okay, he can help."

Riley smiled, almost taking her sunglasses off. Almost. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks, her eyes stinging. She thought better. "That's the right decision, Jack. I promise."

Jack shook his head, letting go of Riley's hand and replacing it with his wife's. "I hope so. I just want my… _our_… children back."

Michael cleared his throat, loudly. "Mr.…"

Jack wouldn't take his attention from Amy. "Everett. Jack Everett. Please, call me Jack."

"Okay, _Jack_," It left an odd taste in Michael's mouth. "Do you have any enemies? Anyone who would want to…"

"No, no… who would want to hurt my children?"

"Someone who would want to hurt you," Riley responded, unsure of where Michael was going with his question. "Jack, think hard."

Jack slowly shook his head as his chin fell to his chest. "No, no one."

Riley waited until they were outside of the hospital, inside the privacy of Michael's car to say anything. She ripped the sunglasses from her face, her red, sad eyes replaced by blue, steely fires. "What were you getting at in there? You know that whoever took my children away from me did this because of you… You know that Jack had nothing to do with this. If someone did this because of him, they would've taken Amy too… killed her maybe. Were you trying to make the man commit suicide?" she yelled, thrashing in her seat.

"So you blame this on me, now? I'm responsible for the kidnapping of your children that I never even met… or heard of until yesterday, for that matter."

She let out an agitated sigh, throwing herself against the seat. "No! I don't blame you… but now you have Jack thinking that he's the one to blame."

"Listen, Riley. You may not blame me. You understand that this is something bigger than me or you. You understand that I would never… but Jack. Jack doesn't know me. Jack wouldn't understand."

"So why did you have to say anything at all? You have the man thinking that he's the reason why his own children are gone. Scared, probably hurt from the accident…"

Michael gripped the wheel hard, turning it violently until the car was parked on the side of the road. "Listen to me, Riley. Do you trust me?" He asked, staring at her with all the intensity he could muster. He would have to overcome the feeling of terror that stuck him when facing her rage. "I mean really trust me."

Riley turned away from him, seeing that her looks were no longer going to effect him. "With my life, Michael. At least, I did before you left me in Afghanistan."

Michael chose to ignore that last part. "Well, then trust me when I say that I play the game the way it needs to be played. If I would have told Jack that it was my fault, he probably would have taken a swing at me. And… since you care about him… I wouldn't have fought back. It wouldn't have been a fair fight. And I operate with two eyes much better than I operate with one."

Riley didn't respond, and Michael took her silence as his cue to get back on the road and back to his place. He had some phone calls to make.


	5. Chapter 3

**A little short-ish, but I'll take whatever my imagination will dish out to me. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! Feebback is well appreciated and an essential for improvement!**

**Ruby**

Traveling in Strategic Circles

A "Burn Notice" fanfiction.

Chapter Three

_Connections. Everyone, everywhere has had some sort of connection in their life time. They may come in the form of life-long friends, a trusted colleague, a family member. The question is, do you have to right kind of connections? Is there some one out there willing to do you a solid with no questions asked? At any rate, the only real problem that arises with a connection is the set limit. What did you do to establish such a connection, and how far would that other party go to return the favor?_

Sam had been on the phone all day trying to get in contact with a buddy of his. They really had no angles to take advantage of, so they would have to start with the fake alias. His friend that he had desperately been trying to contact was an ex-spy with the CIA, known for his ability to find anyone, anywhere.

The phone rang several times before a harsh, low voice answered with a curt, "Yeah?"

"Tom? Tommy Smalls?"

"Who's asking?" the voice responded.

"Sam Axe, your buddy from…"

"Sam!" Tom cut in, his voice sounding more friendly. "How've ya been Sam? What's going on?"

"Things have been good… listen, Tom, are you still in Miami?"

"Why?" the friendliness was gone. Sam roughly translated his answer into 'yes, I'm still in Miami, but I'd rather not tell you.'

_Spies, _Sam mentally insulted. "Look, Tom, I've been trying to get a hold of you all day. Normally I'd play up the small talk, pleasant conversation angle, but I'm tired. I need you to find someone for me, buddy."

Tom hesitated on the other line, Sam knowing that he was thinking over the proposal. Sam knew he would accept, he was obligated to. Back in the old days, Sam had saved his ass more than once in dangerous situations. A long story short, Tom owed Sam.

"Who am I looking for?"

"The name is Trevor McKenzie. It's an alias, though, which makes it kind of tricky."

Tom laughed heartily on the other end. "What do we know about Trevor?"

"That's the tricky thing," Sam answered, starting to pace the floor. "He drove a long haul truck with a fake company name and fake license plates."

The laughing stopped. A thoughtful moan came from the other end, and Sam instantly felt bad. Tom was in retirement, which was why it had been so hard to contact him. With valuable skills like his, the CIA would rather not have him fall into the wrong hands. "Well, I can try looking at some satellite pictures. Those things don't always come out as clear as a bell, though. Do you even have a last known location?"

Sam smiled, trusting in his friends skills. He recited the coordinate Michael had told him earlier, waiting for Tom to respond.

"Give me a while. It's gunna take time to get into the system." Tom paused, Sam waiting. "What exactly is this for, anyway?" He asked because he knew if it wasn't important, Sam wouldn't have called him.

"Remember Riley?"

"The spitfire with that curly hair? Yeah, I remember her."

"It's for Riley, Tom." And that was all that needed to be said.

- - - - - -

Riley took her time dressing after taking her shower. She had thrown her clothes in the washer - including the shirt she had taken from Michael's room after spilling something on her own - and slipped under the water to cleanse herself from the day's errands.

Jack disgusted her, more than she would ever let him know. How could he have left her for that air-headed supermodel? Sure she was never around because of her job, but she had tried to explain things to him. Of course, he had never known the full extent of her occupation, but still… She still loved him, she knew, but she would never go back to him. It was better for both of them to be apart. The reasons why she hated him were not exactly foreign to her either. She was jealous that he had found someone to spend his life with, someone who genuinely loved him. Even if she was as dumb as a post…

No. She shook her head before it could become filled with evil thoughts. Fox and TJ were gone, and she needed to do whatever she needed to do to get them back.

Wrapping a towel around herself, she stepped from the shower and entered the guest room where Madeline had put her up before her abrupt leaving. She found her most comfortable pair of jeans, a tanktop, and some pins to force her unruly, wet, curly hair on top of her head.

As she pulled pushed the last hair pin into place, her cell phone began vibrating violently on the nightstand. She picked it up, flipped it open and examined the LCD for the caller ID.

It was _him_.

He was calling her again, and she had to answer the phone. Slowly, her finger reached for the 'on' button. Even slower, she brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Mommy!" Fox cried on the other end, his childish scream wrenching at her heartstrings.

"Baby? Are you okay? Where's your sister? Are you both alright?" she rapidly spoke into the phone. "Fox, talk to me!"

Fox tried his hardest to answer her, but the sobs coming from him was enough to drown out his voice. Fox was only on the phone a moment longer before _he_ took it from her son.

The kidnapper breathed heavily into the phone, anger ripping through Riley as she waited for him to speak. "Did you make it to Miami okay, Riley?" His voice was masked, mechanical. It made her want to reach through the phone and strangle him for torturing her like this. Her children were scared, possibly hurt from the accident, and she was being forced to play _his_ games.

"You son of a…"

"Now now, you wouldn't want to insult me, would you?" he mocked.

"What the fuck do you want now? I got Michael to help me, just like you asked…"

"That's not enough, Riley. I already told you that I want him to find me. I want him to look for me, because when he does… you'll see. I have a special reunion planned for Michael when we meet again."

"What more do you want!?" Riley demanded again, more than losing her temper. "You want Michael to find you, then tell me where you are! Tell me where my kids are!"

"I can't give you everything, Riley, now can I? Where would the fun be in that?"

"You sick, twisted mother fucker," she growled into her end.

"Careful, or I might think you're not kidding. Now, just help Michael along and I'll have something in it for you. One of your children."

"Both."

"No, you don't make the deals here, Riley. I do. When I feel that you've directed him onto the right path, I'll give you one of your children back. The other I'll need to keep for collateral. You understand."

She didn't understand any of it. What did this lunatic have against Michael? And how was she supposed to direct Michael in the right path? She didn't know who she was dealing with, or where they were. Hell, they could have been anywhere in the world by now. "Not at all," she finally responded. "Let me talk to them. Let me hear their voices…"

"You lead Michael to me, and you'll be able to hear their voices soon enough. Sweet dreams, Riley. And remember, if you want your kids back the same way you left them, no one but us should become to wiser." With that, he promptly hung up the phone, leaving her to gawk after him until the dial tone sounded.

She slammed her cell phone shut, throwing it against the bed with all her might.

Riley suddenly felt very dirty, even though she had just finished with a shower. She threw herself onto the mattress, her hands covering her face as she silently began to weep.

The thought of betraying Michael made her physically ill, but her children's lives depended on it. Jack, no matter how much she loathed him, depended on it. Her own emotional health depended on it.

Besides, she was sure Michael could handle it.

Couldn't he?


	6. Chapter 3: prt 2

Traveling in Strategic Circles

A "Burn Notice" fanfiction

Chapter Three

Part Two

Michael leaned into the lit refrigerator, searching for a carton of strawberry yogurt with as much intensity as he could. The alternative to looking for something that he knew did not exist - he had not been the grocery store in a while - was looking at Riley curled into herself on the floor next to the wall. She hadn't made eye contact with him yet that day, and that was making him nervous.

"Sam found one of his buddies to…" Michael began.

"Yeah, he told me," she replied absentmindedly, twirling the lace on her shoe.

Michael stopped his fruitless search, taking a step back and staring squarely in her direction. "Riley…"

She looked up at him, causing him to take another step backwards. Her face was all devoid of the emotional abuse she had been forced to succumb to. Her sharp facial features were back, her big, blue eyes glistening with all the coldness and beauty of sapphires. She seemed tensed, but if anything it looked more like a thought process in progress than muscle rigidity. All fatigue was gone from her face, even the haggard expression he had first encountered upon reuniting with her.

"Right, of course he did," Michael nodded, not knowing what else to say. "So I think our next move should be to…"

"I already got something. There's this guy named Pedro that we have to meet with in an hour."

Michael exhaled sharply. "And who is Pedro?"

"An informant I've been working with lately. He runs this skeezy bar. If anyone shady ever even uttered the name Trevor McKenzie, Pedro would know about it."

"An informant?" Michael was unaware he had raised his eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and resentment. There was only one reason Riley would have an informant in Miami, but he wanted to hear it from her directly. "Why would you need and informant in Miami, Rie?"

She shrugged, almost missing the trust being pushed from his tone. "I had to find you somehow, Michael. Let's just say that you're file is a little harder to get access to these days, if you know what I mean."

He sighed deeply, realizing the refrigerator door was still open. He hesitated, his next question lingering on the edge of uncomfortable and unprofessional - since she _had _hired him to help her. "Were you… you know… were you okay last night? By yourself?"

She stood, her body creating long, intense angles against the wall she had been propped against. She was finding it more and more morally inappropriate to be spending time around him when she knew she was just going to have to turn her back on him in the end.

There were several objects in her way, though.

Number one, her conscious. She had known Michael for a long, long time. She had saved his life, and he had saved hers. Even that, however, came into question when she thought how he had abandoned her in Nigeria. She had been unarmed with no money, with no phone and no contact to the exclusive world they lived in. Her identity had been compromised, and she had no way of getting back. But she did. She tightened her bootstraps and did what was necessary to survive. And she was stronger for it.

Now, she was just doing what was necessary to help her family survive. Or at least that's how she justified it to make some of the pain go away.

Number two, she wasn't sure if Michael really trusted her. Hell, she had never been convinced that he trusted her when they were working together. His trust was everything in saving the lives of her children, so she did what she had to. She placed herself in his mother's household, let him into the fragile hospital environment to see Jack and Amy. Even Sam trusted her, and Riley knew that Michael really did trust Sam. She was also hoping to work her way into the good graces of Fiona in time.

Fiona. Reason number three. Whether it was her training and finely tuned observation skills or her womanly instinct, Riley sensed that there was something between Michael and Fiona. Obviously, she was right, although she had yet to definitely confirm it.

(Yet again, the Fiona argument was favor in factor to Riley's theory that Michael did not fully trust her. She had never even heard of Fiona, and apparently there had been something going on between them for a while. She _had _heard Michael yell her name in Madeline's house after all…)

Number four, her own feelings towards Michael. If anything, Riley felt that this would be her biggest hindrance because she wasn't entirely sure _how _she did feel about Michael Westen. There had been a time when…

But that was all behind her. She was going to have to put that all behind her, and focus on the task at hand. And that's what made it just so damn hard. He was there. He was next to her, a lot. He was watching her, staring. She could even sense that he was thinking the exact same thoughts that she was at some times. They shared some of the same memories, including the one of that night in Kazakhstan not so long ago.

She would have to repress it all.

"We should probably go. Pedro gets kind of skittish if I'm ever late," she instructed, not waiting for Michael to even think of responding. She safely in the passenger seat of his car with her seatbelt on before Michael could even reach for his keys.

- - - - - -

Pedro was a tall, lanky man with a medium build and piles upon piles of ink colored hair on the top of his head. His creamy caramel skin blended into the yellow tint of his yellow t-shirt, white chinos and jacket making him stand out on the bench on the beach Riley had instructed Michael to drive to. She was the first out of the car, Michael falling in step beside her. She could tell, without even having to look, that he did not like any part of this.

Because he wasn't in control.

Michael was always at the helm of all their missions, doing things the way he wanted. Well - to help keep her distance - Riley decided to step up. If Michael got frustrated with her, he might distance himself as well. That was what she could only hope for.

"Ricky!" she commanded, seeing that Michael was about to ask her a question. The less talking they did, the better.

Michael grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop walking. Leaning into her ear, he looked over her shoulder at her informant. "I thought you said his name was Pedro?"

Riley pulled her arm away. "His name is Ricky, but for his own safety he asked me to call him Pedro. Isn't that right, Ricky?" she shouted.

Pedro pulled his sunglasses off, large brown eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anger. "Shhh!" he pleaded, beckoning her over to a picnic table to their left. It was a shaded area, those in he water unable to see them from the distance and the people on the road unable to see them because of the palm trees hanging overhead.

Michael stared after Riley, trying to figure some sort of action basis for her. She had been broken apart the other day, so much so that Michael was wondering if her mental state was strong enough to actually participate in the finding of her children. Now… well, now he saw no hint of any problem whatsoever. As Riley sat on the table top, crossing her long leg over the other and leaning backwards onto her elbows, Michael saw nothing more in than a disinterested and slightly resentful façade.

Trying to configure a tactical approach to the situation, Michael stood idly by and watched with deep concentration.

"So what'ya got for me, Pedro?" Riley asked, tapping her foot to some music being played nearby.

"First of all…" Pedro started, reapplying his sunglasses as he look around nervously.

"First, you're going to tell me that you don't know anything and I have nothing to gain by even asking you. Then I'm going to persist, and you're going to deny it all over again. Then I'm going to offer something in exchange for the information you have, and you'll finally reluctantly agree… But, you see, Pedro, I'm kind of upset. Instead of offering something, I might give you an ass kicking. Can we just cut to the chase, please?"

Michael smiled to himself. Her plan was painfully obvious to moment the phrase 'ass kicking' left her mouth. Taking another look at Pedro, Michael laughed. He wasn't exactly buff, but he did have a distinct height and weight advantage on a comparatively tiny Riley. While Riley's bark was vicious sounding to the point it made some quake in their boots, her bite was relatively inexistent.

He put his charming face on. "Look, Pedro," he jumped in. "I think what the lady is saying that it would be in your best interest to just tell us what you know so we can leave you alone."

Riley was impressed. He had done that without bursting into laughter. "Right. So I'm going to ask you again."

Pedro put his hands in the air, palms out. "You can ask me all you want, that doesn't change the fact that I don't know anything."

Riley looked off towards the beach. "You wouldn't have agreed to meet with me if you didn't have _something_…"

Michael nodded. "She makes a good point, there, Rick."

Pedro's eyes darted around frantically. "Keep your voice down!" he commanded.

Riley stood, her hard features moving in a graceful fashion as she strutted towards her informant. She reached her hand up to stroke his cheek with her thumb, quickly reaching around the back of his head to snatch some of his long hair in her hand. "Ricky, baby, tell me what I want to know."

Michael marveled at the expression set across Pedro's face: pure terror. It made him wander just what Riley had done - or, more likely, threatened to do - to him in the past that made the him experience such a drastic reaction from her touch. "Okay, okay… but this is all I know, promise."

"All I want is something to go on," she whispered in his ear.

"The guy… the guy you told me about…."

"Mr. McKenzie?"

"Yeah, him… he's used the name before…"

"Pedro, I think you're lying to me," Riley smirked, gripping his hair a little tighter in her fist.

"We've already tried to look up Trevor," Michael interrupted, stepping closer to hear Pedro better.

"No, he calls himself 'The Ghost'. Says he's invisible… he talks a lot, and people talk about him."

"What does 'The Ghost' do for a living? Why is it so valuable for him to be invisible?" Riley excitedly asked.

"Something with cocaine… I don't know, really."

Riley smiled, kissing Pedro on the cheek. "Thank you, Ricky." Her hand left his hair, repositioning herself so her hands were on her hips. "One last question, Rick. Where can I find this ghost man?"

Pedro shook his head. "I don't…"

Riley cocked her head, a dangerous expression falling over her features. "Come on, do you really want to finish that sentence?"

"The docks. He's got a big freighter he uses for shipping his products in from Mexico."

Riley lightly punched him on the arm. "Good job, buddy. I'm going to have someone call your parole officer and put in a good word for you for that one."

Riley walked past Michael, brushing through the palm trees without even a glance in his direction. Michael, sharing the same line of vision as Pedro, patted the informant on the shoulder. "Damn. I hate that girl, but I love watching her walk away," Pedro sighed.

Michael turned to him, positioning his sunglasses on firmly. "Don't watch her walk away," he instructed sternly, following in Riley's wake.

She leaned against the hood of the car until Michael had followed her. When she saw him approaching from the beach, she slid into the passenger seat and waiting for him to get in beside her. He was hesitant to start the car. "You think he knew more?"

"To tell you the truth," Riley started, leaning her head against the seat, "I was surprised he even knew anything at all."

"Are you usually so persuasive with your informants?"

Riley lowered her chin to her chest. "Sometimes Pedro needs a little convincing, but I figured with you there to back me up I wouldn't need to break out my usual interrogation techniques with him. He seemed extra jumpy today, though. I wonder what he did now…"

Michael sat silently, searching for one last sign of Pedro before leaving. "What has he told you about me, Rie?"

"Nothing I already didn't know, Michael," she said without vacillation. She had been planning on answering that question since she told Michael that she had an informant in Miami, and she had managed to lie to him perfectly. He seemed to buy it, for the time being.

Besides, she did know of Fiona. She just didn't know about Fiona and Michael.


	7. Chapter 3: prt 3

Traveling in Strategic Circles.

A "Burn Notice" Fanfiction.

Chapter Three.

Part Three.

Sam reached into the backseat, a cooler full of his favorite beer stuffed behind the passenger seat. Fiona watched him, a sneer in her eyes. Disgusted at Sam's ability to scarf down large amounts of alcohol at a time without having to deal with the consequences, Fiona threw her arms out in front of her and gripped to steering wheel with as much strength she could muster. The marina had been quiet all morning. The freighter that Michael had reported to be owned by Trevor McKenzie had been sitting at its dock, untouched.

"Why is it that I always get stuck doing surveillance. I hate surveillance," Fiona pouted, folding her arms over her chest.

Sam replied, but Fiona had ignored him. She didn't want to talk about how she hated doing certain things. She didn't want to talk about why she had agreed to do something she didn't want to do, only because Michael asked her. No, she had something else she wanted to talk about.

"Sam? What can you tell me about our new little friend?"

Sam lifted the neck of the bottle so the beer freely flowed into his mouth. After a long swig, he turned to Fiona. "Riley?"

"Yeah…her."

"Nothing much to say, really. Riley worked with Mikey a little while ago. He was the tactics and she was the tech, but then his cover got blown."

"Was she partners with him when Michael and I were together?"

Sam scratched the back of his neck. "Fi, don't you think you should be interrogating Mike and not me?"

"Who's interrogating who? Not me!… just friendly conversation."

"Yeah. They worked together when you and Mike were a thing. Happy?"

Fiona smiled widely. "Not really." She knew her smile worked, because Sam had eased his expression and gone back to concentrating on the surveillance. She wasn't really sure what she wanted when she asked the question, and she was both satisfied and upset by the answer. Something made her contented to know that Michael was with her while he was working with Riley, because she knew that Michael could never be unfaithful. He was too wound up in his work while trying to keep their relationship afloat to have another one on the side. However, something made her fidget in her seat to think that Riley was with Michael when she couldn't be, helping him when she couldn't be.

She leaned back in her seat, feeling the warm breeze brush through the window and blow right through her. She shivered, even though she was sweating. Her palms slipped off the wheel and into her lap, where they stayed. Sam reached back for another beer. It was going to be a long day.

She sank deeper into her thoughts, her eyes instinctually fixed on the target but her inner eye wondering. She wondered where Michael was at that exact moment, and she instantly grew angered with him for it. She was never that girl. She was never the one to worry about her positions with a man, because she never needed to. Riley, however…

While Fiona found herself to be more physically attractive than Riley, there was the essence of mystery surrounding the girl. From what she could observe, and from what Michael had briefly explained, she kept her personal and business life impossibly separate. She was able to hide children from Michael, a person she had to trust with her life. Fiona felt that there was more to the story, something that had yet to be revealed. There was definitely something amiss, and Fiona was going to be the one to bring it Michael's attention.

She was pulled from her thoughts as Sam reached out a finger out to her. "You see that?"

She moved her gaze to where Sam was pointing, a man lurking from the side of the dock. To the untrained eye, it appeared to be just a random man, loitering the docks. Fiona and Sam knew better, however. They way he was examining the freighter was suspicious enough. The way he was dressed was even tactical, but Fiona was intimate enough with her firearms to notice the distinct bulge of a pistol concealed under his shirt as the wind blew against it. She took in a deep breath, watching the man take several steps in one direction and then pivot and retrace his steps. "McKenzie?"

Sam took a swig of beer, let it swill in his mouth, then swallowed. "No, I don't think so. Associate maybe? Investor?"

Fiona squinted. She examined the muscled male. His sleek blonde hair, his tight white t-shirt, his jeans that bunched around his knees. "Looks too young… too… scruffy to be an investor."

"Enforcer?" Sam asked, clenching his palm around the long-necked bottle.

She shrugged, her hands groping the door handle. "One way to find out." She exited the car, Sam started to protest but then deciding to keep his mouth shut. She sauntered over to him, his attention diverted when he heard her approach.

Fiona smiled, readjusting her sunglasses. "Well let's hope you can sure help me out of this pickle," she addressed him, taking on a southern twang in her voice. "You see, little ol' me is havin' a bit of engine problems, and you're the first person I've seen all day."

He looked at her, measuring her up and down. "I can't help you."

Fiona smiled wider. This guy was going to make her work, but she was up for a challenge. "Is this your boat? Sure is big…"

"It's not my boat."

She lessened her smile. "Oh. Well, do you know who does? Maybe they can help me…"

He moved his hands to his hips, annoyed with her already. "Look, lady, I don't know who owns the boat. Do me a favor, though, since you're going to be sitting here for a while. Tell whoever it is that Marshall is looking for him." He scoffed, turned around and stalked away.

Fiona walked back to the car with a sort of swagger. She took her seat behind the wheel, ignored Sam's questionary stare, and shifted the car into gear.

- - - - - -

Michael closed his cellphone, simultaneously turning the corner towards his mother's house. "Does the name Marshall have any meaning to you?"

Riley stared idly out the window, letting the question swirl around in her memory for a while before responding. "No, nothing."

Michael sighed, shaking his head. "Fiona found him wandering around the freighter that belonged to Trevor McKenzie."

She continued her concentration out the window, observing a mother and what Riley would perceive to be the woman's son playing on the sidewalk across the street. She remembered buying TJ and Fox a whole bunch of sidewalk chalk just before they were taken. The twins loved that stuff, always coming up with something new to draw. They were so creative. "Oh yeah?"

Michael let the engine idle in the driveway when he noticed the subject of Riley's intense observations, then continued to yank the keys from the ignition and thrust open the driver side door. "Thing is, though, that this guy said he didn't know McKenzie."

Riley whipped her head around to him. "What do you mean?"

He walked around the front of the car and caught the door as she pushed it open. "He said he was looking for the owner of the freighter, but didn't know who it was."

Riley squinted, running the idea through her brain. "That doesn't make sense."

"That's what I thought."

Riley stepped out of the car, letting Michael play the role of the gentleman as he closed the door behind her. They walked in to his mother's house together, their arms brushing as they awkwardly squeezed through the doorway. "So either it's a lie…"

Michael found himself smiling. " …Or someone who knows what they're doing…"

"… but doesn't know what _we're_ doing…" Riley finished. "Who else would want to look for McKenzie, though? Who else cares about my kids enough to…" The look Michael gave her was enough to make her stop in mid sentence and reevaluate her thoughts. "God damn it, Jack."


	8. Chapter 3: prt 4

Traveling in Strategic Circles

A "Burn Notice" Fanfiction

Chapter Three

Part Four

Riley stomped around the room, listening to the phone ringing over and over again in her ear. Michael sat on his mother's sofa, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee as his arms stretched over the back of the couch. Riley avoided his gaze, trying to concentrate on the cell phone in her hand. She was shaking fiercely. With rage? With fear? She wasn't sure. She was sure that – no matter the emotion it was spawning from – an ass kicking was in Jack's future.

_Hello?_ Jack finally answered.

"You fucking asshole!" Riley screamed at him, throwing her fist down against her side in an attempt not to start thrashing. "You're a dumb little shit, Jack!"

"Riley," Michael warned in a low tone from his position on the couch.

_Riley?_

"Of course it's Riley, moron. You told me no cops! I thought that was because… I thought that was because…" she looked towards Michael, who titled his head towards his shoulder as he stared back at her. She choked up, unable to find the words. "Now I find out that you said no cops because you hired some shady mother fucker to find our kids. What were you thinking, Jack?"

"Riley," Michael warned again.

Jack remained silent for several moments, only breathing into the receiver. Riley knew exactly what was going through his head. He hadn't thought it out. He had put trust in someone who he knew nothing about. He messed up. _I wanted to get Fox and TJ back, Rie._

Riley exhaled, watching Michael stand up and take a step towards her. "I told you _I'd_ get them back. Why can't you trust me?"

_Jesus, Riley!_ Jack yelled. _How am I supposed to trust you? You're always disappearing. You never tell me where you're going. You're always making up excuses. Now, when I need you to be straightforward with me, you show up in my wife's hospital room with some random guy who is supposed to solve this?_

Michael saw she was having a hard time with the conversation, and held out his hand to offer her some support. Riley pursed her lips and shook her head, holding up her finger to ask him for one more minute. "Jack, you need to tell me everything."

Michael persisted, holding out his palm for her to hand him the phone. Riley squeezed her fingers around it tighter, afraid of what Michael might say. Jack was already on edge. She didn't want him to get pushed over that edge.

"Jack, please. For Fox and TJ's sake…"

_Okay, Rie. _Jack was breathing heavy now, sounding as if he was on the verge of tears on the other end. Riley couldn't blame him. _All I know is that his name is John Marshall. At least, that's what he told me his name was. I was… I was at a bar across from the hospital the other night. I just wanted to…I wanted to forget and… he approached me, Riley. He said I looked like I had a problem and…._

"You told him everything, didn't you?"

_I was drunk, Riley! I didn't mean to._

Riley closed her eyes, biting on her lower lip. "It's okay, Jack. What else?" It was far from okay, but Riley was learning quickly that Jack wasn't as strong as she had always thought him to be.

_He said he could take care of my problem for a price._

"What was the price?"

_Ten grand._

"You paid him?"

…_I had my checkbook…_

Michael shook his hand, almost demanding that she hand over the phone to him. Riley acquiesced, sinking down onto the couch as she did so. Michael lifted the phone to his ear, staring straight at her as he spoke. "Jack, I can fix this. I promise you. I can fix everything. I will get Fox and TJ back, and I'll clean up after this Marshall guy and get your money back." He paused, his gaze never faltered. He locked eyes with Riley, unafraid of the foggy smoke that smoldered around her retinas. He was talking to Riley, and Riley only. He was promising her. It made her stomach turn. "You don't have to trust me, but you have to believe me. You have to hear me when I say that I _can_ fix this. I _will_ fix this. All of it."

Riley's stomach flipped and churned as he stared her squarely in the eye. It took all her strength just to look up at him. It took so much just to keep herself from not confessing everything to him, she couldn't focus on her gag reflex. Doubling over, she reached her torso over her knees and violently vomited. She caught her breath, feeling Michael's hands on her. One of them was holding back her hair. The second was in the space between her shoulder blades, his fingers pressing against the material of her shirt as if to reach for her skin.

Her stomach contracted once more, and Riley threw herself between her knees.

- - - - - -

Fiona examined Michael's mother's house, the smell of lemon Pine Sol and Lysol mixing in the air and making her nose sting. Michael leaned onto his elbows, stretching himself over the kitchen table. Sam sat across from him, beer loosely in hand. Riley was no where in sight.

"So now we have this guy to take care of?" Sam asked, pushing the half empty bottle away from him.

"Riley said Jack gave the guy ten grand. From what Jack told her, the guy is definitely a hired assassin."

Fiona shrugged. "So why can't we just let this guy kill McKenzie?"

Michael frowned. "Were you listening?"

Fiona sighed deeply. "I'm just suggesting, Michael."

Sam made a face, putting his palm to his countenance so as to hide it from the other two. It was clear what was going on. Even though he could obviously see the mood that was mingling between them, he wasn't sure if Michael could. Fiona was always Michael's weakness, but things were shifting. Michael was focused on Riley and her predicament, and Fiona wasn't used to having competition.

"If we let the guy kill McKenzie, we lose our lead, and most likely the kids. What don't you understand about that?" Normally, Michael wouldn't talk to her that way, but he was getting a tad emotional. Ever since he had talked to Jack, promised Jack and Riley and that he would get their children back, he felt frustrated and a bit overwhelmed.

"I don't understand why we're fishing this girl out a situation that she is fully capable of handling on her own, " Fiona argued, her lax state becoming more attentive. "There's something more to this girl, Michael. Think about it."

Michael had been thinking about it. He had been thinking about it long and hard. There was something more going on underneath it all. But he trusted Riley. Or, at least, he had at one point. Then he left her, with no explanation and no way out. He left her, and now he owed her. He couldn't explain that to them, though. It was just a feeling he had. Something told him that no matter what happened, Riley was someone he could trust. He had loyalty to her, even if hers seemed misplaced at the moment. He owed her.

He placed his hands on his hips. "You done yet?"

Fiona smirked. "For now."

Sam assess the situation, and deemed it appropriate to continue on. He reached onto the seat next to him, producing a manila envelope and setting it on the table. "So my buddy was able to get some of these pictures from a satellite, but there's kind of fuzzy."

Michael extracted the photos inside, tilting his head as he examined them. "At least we know what the guy looks like now."

Fiona had taken the time to step over to him, looking at the pictures over his shoulder. She closely examined the meaty, 6"0', Caucasian, cue ball with disgust. "Not very attractive, is he?"

"Fiona!" Michael scolded, rolling his head on his neck. He wasn't in the mood for her usual cheeky wit. Admittedly, he thought it was cute at most times. However, his frustration level was running high. He shook his head. Fiona scowled, turned, and heavily stalked towards the door. "Fi, I want you to help."

Fiona stopped, looking at them over her shoulder. "I'll help you, Michael. I won't help her."

Sam picked up his bottle, just to give his hands something to do. "And why are you being so picky, Fi?"

Fiona shot him a fierce look, collecting herself as she readied to leave. "Because, unlike weak men, I can see through tears."

Michael groaned. "Her kids were kidnapped!" He rolled his head backwards. He wasn't mad, though. Not fully, not yet. He was confused. He had never heard Fiona sound so cold and uncaring. He assumed that it was because she was being cautious about Riley. He appreciated that. She was looking out for him. If anything, it felt good to know for certain that someone had his back. He couldn't figure out though, why she had to bring up things in the manner that she was.

Fiona grimaced at him, collecting her bag and throwing the strap over her shoulder. "Fine. If you need me, Michael, call me."

He threw his hands onto his hips, watching Sam rise and exit through the kitchen door. "Where are you going, Fi?"

She refused to look back at him as she walked for the front door. "To do some of my own recon," she responded, slamming the door behind her.

"So we know this guy has a freighter, most likely dealing in drugs," Sam continued, breaking the silence. "What's the game plan now?"

"We wait for McKenzie," Michael sighed, exhaling. "In the meantime, we find out more about this freighter. I want to know what's on it so we can know for sure what we're dealing with. Then, we conceive a concrete plan."

Sam paused, swigging his beer to stall for time. "Where's Riley?"

Michael nodded his head towards the stairs. "She's in the guest room. It's starting to take a physical toll on her."

Sam frowned. "So we just wait? Won't help her nerves much, Mike."

"I know," he agreed, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. Since Fiona had left, he had a bad feeling settling in his muscles. He should have stopped her, he knew, but there was never any stopping Fiona when she was determined. "Which is why I'm thinking we set up a meeting with this hired assassin."

Sam laughed. "You say it like its so easy to do."

"John Marshall. That was the name he gave when he approached Jack. It sounded like he looked for his clients by staking out a bar and looking for anyone trying to drown themselves in a shot glass. With a little acting, it shouldn't be too hard to find him."


End file.
